"It is okay to be an outsider, a recent arrival, new on the scene -- and not just okay, but something to be thankful for ... Because being an insider can so easily mean collapsing the horizons, can so easily mean accepting the presumptions of your province."

Tan Le

Perry Island, Prince William Sound, Alaska.

Here in Alaska, we have a word for the newly arrived: Cheechako.

It is derived from the Chinook word chee, meaning "just now" and chako, meaning "come."

My husband and I left a robust coastal city of 2 million and came to Alaska in 2000. I'd worked in the fashion industry for 12 years (wait, I think I had a pair of rubber boots with heels ... what happened to those?) and sought major change, my husband found a job in Anchorage (butI thought you said you sent resumes to Seattle and San Francisco ...). My memory of arriving here that November after driving 2,195 miles, is of sitting at a stoplight in silence, staring at a plastic palm tree deflating in a snowy car lot, my new mittens filthy from changing a tire next to a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant, two howling cats on the bench seat between us and the sinking weight of knowing, clearly, we'd just made an enormous mistake.

But I also remember the first time I heard a raven's Kla-wock! from a street lamp above: a dropping, dripping sound, like water hitting the bottom of an empty barrel. A sound that still has me snap my head around until I can find that glossy black body.

And I remember filling my lungs and thinking, Oh, this is what it means to take a deep breath. This is what it means to look up and see something enormous -- a horizon, a sky, a raven -- something beckoning instead of crushing.

I'd argue that it's the inner Cheechako that drives us. All stupid mistakes and blind luck and a willingness to experience and see what should be met with awe -- no matter how simple and small or enormous and insurmountable. When was the last time you were in awe?

What have you dragged through the slush lately? Where have you gone in your creative work where you really had no business going, were completely unprepared for and were lucky you emerged on the other side merely wringing out your socks, tummy rumbling?

It's deeper than risk taking -- it's naivety. And it's not merely asking "what if?" -- it's the work produced from the mindset of, "I am going to make this happen/do this thing/make this real/go to this place."

I don't think it matters where you live. You probably have your own word for Cheechako, your own set of stories surrounding the arrival of bumbling newcomers, but when was the last time you let yourself be one?

Stand in front of your work and say this: Just now, come. Dig up the will to climb it. Hold some awe. Wander after stupid ideas that might turn out okay. Maybe even great.

I say this to myself, not just to you: quit hesitating, quit collapsing your horizons, because if there's one thing you can be an expert at it's the blundering arrival of not knowing.

If you, too, have accounts of blundering arrival, your own versions of Cheechako stories, I'd love to hear them. They always make me feel better (oh, and that bit above about the kayaks floating away? Mine. Same with the second-degree burns from crashing through photosensitive cow parsnip).

I love questions like these...the kind that I don't even think I need to answer about myself unless some one asks..: the kind I wish I thought to ask myself more often.
Steeping outside.... Or going against the grain... Being the one that stands out, and liking it....those are my similar questions... And I've been living it for however long it is since I found art... 5 maybe.
For me, living the 9-5 life and being a wife and a daughter and a cousin and a cathloic, is the outsider life that I have chosen..:. All of those are my " forests " or " cow parsnip"..: the art never is.... That outfit always fits me, no matter what size or color I think it is or others think it is... It IS ME...the real me...

Lesa,
It's so inspiring to hear that you've found your true self within your art form. I think many are not only still searching, but also feel unsupported or pulled in the opposite direction from their art or otherwise "true calling." The real you is the most important one and you are fortunate to have found her.
Thank you so much for reading and commenting.
XO
Amy

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Cornelia

7/22/2015 04:40:30 am

Love reading your blog, and also love your work. I live in Southern
Arizona, in the desert. Love all the greens in your photos. We have
ravens, too. Not sure if they're the same kind.

Cornelia,
This post was a bit of a shout-out to my parents, who also live in the desert. With the lack of water, this is the first summer since 1980 that my mother hasn't been able to have a garden. We are enjoying the green here as much as possible now ... soon it will all be white.
Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to comment!
XO
Amy

Six years ago we put our Williamsburg, Virginia house on the market and said, "if it sells before we have to sign our teaching contracts for next year, we'll move to Texas."

And it sold three days before contracts were due ... and we packed up and moved six weeks later ... arriving in the middle of Texas summer and drought so bad I called the fire department to ask if it was okay to cook burgers on a charcoal grill (the answer was "yes, but keep a hose handy").

I remember going to the Ace Hardware and someone (kindly) saying, "You're new here, aren't you?" I felt like it was stamped on my forehead.

So that was when I started blogging at I'm going to Texas ... and learning the names for all the things I didn't know ... flowers, birds, trees, rocks.

And then, incredibly, finding ourselves one year in buying five (five!) acres of land complete with coral snakes, tarantulas, armadillos, turkey buzzards (which are actually very helpful as they clean up the dead critters) ... and Rio Grande turkeys, roadrunners, tanagers ... TexMex food and smoked brisket ... live music ... crystal clear rivers ... and fossil shells 1000' above sea level.

After which I found Jude Hill and slow cloth and you ... and a whole new universe of possibility.

Liz,
I'm so thrilled to hear the history of "I'm going to Texas!" (for those of you who haven't seen this blog, check it out at http://imgoingtotexas.blogspot.com) I think Texas is so much like Alaska -- crazy weather and animals roaming all over. Alas, no Tex-Mex food like the awesomeness that you get.
Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to share your adventures!
XO
Amy

I didn't know the history of your blog either, Liz. Sounds like I'm kind of following your boat. When I first read this post I started considering the fact that I've made some seriously important virtual friends (yes, you, Amy) - the result of not knowing anyone on the ground after almost a year in our new place. It all takes guts…I don't claim to be especially brave but nice to celebrate the "cheechako" in ourselves with others. PS. How's about that earthquake, Amy?

Roxanne,
And I didn't know your history until I read your post about growing indigo (http://www.tafalist.com/growing-indigo-in-south-carolina/), which Rachel from TAFA List shared here. No matter where we jump in on the timeline or know about each other's history, I think it's spectacular that we're all floating around in each other's current lives.

And that earthquake last night ... a big loud rolling one. Our poor little rescue kitty from Bethel (already a nervous wreck on good days), completely freaked out 30 minutes before the quake hit, running all over the place searching from window to window. She knew something was coming, and it was going to be scary. It prompted a discussion about when "the big one hits" and how cut off we will be in Alaska at that time, so the kids ran outside after dinner and picked a quart of raspberries to have in the event of an emergency.
XO
Amy

LOL...oh yes, the escape from Chicago to Maine during the 90s bust (after the go-go eighties)...because...layoffs by text and no mortgage so why not! And Maine? Hotbed of jobs then, right? The husband who discovered his "true self"...the divorce...the remarriage...the amazing children-now-almost-young-adults, with a year spent in Ho Chi Mihn city along the way....Vietnam stories a tome unto their own...thank you.

Sharon,
This sounds like a multi-volume set of adventures right here! And I can tell that despite it all you've maintained a sense of humor ... or perhaps these experiences forged it.
Thank you so much for reading and for sharing highlights of your own life back at us!
XO
Amy

Amy, you are such a wonderful writer! Painting stories that fly through my mind.... Excellent! I just could not tolerate the cold and the long, dark times that you guys go through there... Ugh. But, the rest sounds wonderful!

We just had a guest post on TAFA's blog that you will enjoy:
http://www.tafalist.com/growing-indigo-in-south-carolina/

Similar transplant thoughts, but to a muggy, hot part of the country...

Rachel,
Thanks for taking the time to read and comment here! I checked out the link to Roxanne Lasky's post about growing indigo -- now THAT sound like an adventure! How fabulous! And yes, cold and dark and long times are coming to the north, so we bask in long daylight hours now.
XO
Amy

Reply

Nina Johnson

5/26/2016 03:02:33 pm

Such a lovely group of people, comments, and stories. Life truly is about reinventing, reconsidering, rediscovery and rearranging ourselves.

Hi Nina,
I just re-read all the comments here based on your recent comment (the others are nearly a year old) and feel newly blessed in realizing I have such documentation of these wonderful relationships here online. Thank you for taking the time to click around on my blog and for leaving a comment as well. Now you're part of it, too!
XO Amy

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Amy Meissner

Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.​